"Bobby," said Kitty Hampton one evening as they sat alone together in her
drawing-room, "things are slow, deadly slow. Why do not you do something
to amuse your little cousin?"
"My little cousin has far more amusement than is good for her as it is,"
returned Hayden. "But while you're mentioning this, let me say that I am
anxious to evince some appreciation of all the hospitality you and Mrs.
Habersham and one or two others have shown me; but I don't know just what
to do."
Kitty sat up with a marked accession of interest in her expression and
attitude. "Dear me! There are quantities of things you could do," she
said. "But, Bobby, do get out of the beaten track; try to think of
something original. Of course, it's all nonsense, about feeling under
obligation to any one for so-called hospitality, but there is no reason
why you should not provide some fun. Now, what shall it be?"
"Anything you say," remarked Hayden amiably. "To tell the truth, Kitty,
I've been intending to ask you just what I should do. What can you
suggest?"
"It requires thought." Kitty spoke seriously. "But be assured of this:
I'm not going to suggest any of the same old things. If you want
something really delightful and have a desire to have us truly enjoy
ourselves you must have just a few congenial people. Better make it a
dinner, I think. That is it. A dinner at your apartment," catching
joyously at this idea, "with some original, clever features."
"I thought whatever it was"--Hayden had reddened perceptibly--"I'd like
it to be--a--a--compliment, in a way, to Miss Oldham."
"I do not doubt it." Kitty surveyed him with amused eyes.
"I always think of her in connection with the butterflies she wears so
much. Would it be a possibility to carry the butterfly idea out in some
way?" he asked.
Kitty clapped her hands. She was all animation and enthusiasm now. The
habitual, sulky-little-boy expression had quite vanished from her face.
"Beautiful! Just the idea! You couldn't have thought of a better one. The
butterfly lady has had a great fascination for you, hasn't she, Bobby?"
"Which one?" he asked quickly.
"Which one? Hear that!" His cousin apostrophized space. "Why, I was
thinking of Marcia, of course."
He smiled a little and became momentarily lost in reverie, his chin in
the palm of his hand, and dreaming thus, Kitty's old French drawing-room
and Kitty herself, her blond prettiness accentuated and enhanced by the
delicate pinks and blues of her gown, vanished, and Marcia seemed to
stand before him all in black and silver as he had seen her recently at a
ball, with violets, great purple violets, falling below the shining
butterfly on her breast, her sweet and wistful smile curving her lips and
her eyes full of light and happiness.
"Bobby, come back!" Kitty touched him petulantly on the arm. "You've been
a million miles away, and you looked so selfishly happy that I feel all
shivery and out in the cold."
"Kitty," he said, "I will confess, when I said, 'Which one?' I was
thinking not only of Miss Oldham, but of the other butterfly lady--the
Mariposa. You know Mariposa means butterfly. Well, it is really the
Mariposa who fascinates me."
"Bobby! What on earth do you mean?" Kitty's expression was a mixture of
Disappointment and indignation.
"Just what I say. The Mariposa fascinates me; but, Kitty," his face
softening, "I love the fairy princess with all my heart. I have loved her
from the first moment I saw her."
"How dear! I have thought so, hoped so, for some time." Her face was all
aglow. "But you frightened me dreadfully, just now. I was afraid you had
gone over to Mademoiselle Mariposa like Wilfred Ames. He is crazy about
her, simply crazy. I did not know he could be crazy over anything, except
the chance of tearing off to some impossible spot to shoot big game."
"Wilfred Ames! Crazy about the Mariposa!" exclaimed Hayden incredulously;
and then he paused, remembering that it was but recently that he had met
Ames at the door of Ydo's apartment.
"Yes." Kitty was sulky again. "It's true. And I wanted him for Marcia.
But Marcia was stupid about it and always laughed at the idea. Horace
Penfield says that he has completely swerved from his allegiance to
Marcia. Just fancy how his mother will behave now. Good for her, I say.
But, Bobby, have you told Marcia?"
"Yes. I couldn't help it, Kitty, but it wasn't fair. I had no right to
say a word until I know how things are going to turn out with me and
that, thank Heaven, will be settled in a day or so." He drew a long sigh.
"Bobby," Kitty was looking at him curiously, and a rather hard abruptness
had crept into her tone, "has she, Marcia, told you anything about
these?" She touched the butterflies clasped about her throat.
"No." He shook his head. "But I believe I have guessed their
significance. And it has made me happier than I can tell you. It has made
me feel that our interests are one, as if Destiny had intended us for
each other."
"I'm sure I don't see why it should," she said shortly, looking at him in
a bewildered, disapproving way. "I didn't know you were that kind. It
sounds awfully self-seeking. I do not believe you've guessed right." Her
face brightened. "That is it. You've got some idea into your head, and
it's evidently far from the correct one. You wouldn't be the Bobby I know
if it were."
"Then tell me what the correct one is," he coaxed. "If I am on the wrong
track, set me on the right one."
"Not I," she returned firmly. "The thing for us to decide is just what
sort of a dinner you are going to have. You want some really interesting
features. I insist on that."
He threw wide his arms. "I give you carte blanche, here and now, Kitty.
All that I insist on are the butterfly effects. Beyond that, I leave
everything in your hands; but I must have them."
Kitty's eyes gleamed with pleasure. She loved to manage other people's
affairs. "I'll see to them," she affirmed. "Just give me a little time to
think them up. What shall we have afterward? Some music?"
"So commonplace," he objected, "and the place is too small."
"Yes-s-s," she reluctantly agreed. "And you don't want very many people.
Just our own especial little group."
"It will have to be small," he warned her. "My quarters do not admit of
anything very extensive."
"Whom shall we have?" Mrs. Hampton began to count on her fingers. "The
Habershams, and Edith Symmes, and Horace Penfield, and Warren and myself,
and Marcia, and Wilfred Ames, and yourself." She paused, a look of dismay
overspreading her face. "We'll have to have another woman. Who on earth
shall it be?"
"A butterfly dinner without the Mariposa would seem like _Hamlet_ with
the Prince left out, wouldn't it?" suggested Hayden.
"Oh!" Kitty gasped joyously. "Mademoiselle Mariposa! Do, do, invite her.
What fun! Do you think she will come? You know Marcia knows her, but she
will not talk about her ever, because, she says, Mademoiselle Mariposa
has requested her not to. So she will not say where and how she met her.
Mean thing! Of course, I've only seen her in her little mask and
mantilla. You do not suppose she would wear them to a dinner, do you? I
am dying to see her without them. Horace Penfield knows her very well and
he says she is very beautiful and deliciously odd. If it enters into her
head to do anything she just does it, no matter what it is. And
extravagant!" Kitty lifted her eyes and hands at once. "They say that her
jewels and frocks are almost unbelievable. Why, one day when she was
reading my palm, I noticed that her gown was drawn up a little on one
side, and showed her petticoat beneath, with ruffles of Mechlin, real
Mechlin on it. Some people say that she is a Spanish princess, or
something of the kind--so eccentric that she tells fortunes just for the
fun of it. Oh, Bobby, do, do get her."
"When shall we have this dinner?" asked Hayden, with apparent
irrelevance.
Kitty thought quickly. "Give me ten days to decide upon things and have
my orders carried out."
"Very good. Ten days. Let me see, that will be Tuesday of week after
next. Do you think the rest will come?"
"Of course they will come. They would break any other engagement to meet
Mademoiselle Mariposa."
"Then I will find out now if she will come, if you will allow me to use
your telephone."
He was lucky enough to find Ydo at home; but when he informed her that he
was giving a dinner for a few friends on Tuesday, ten days away, and that
he earnestly desired her presence, she demurred.
"What are you doing this evening?" he asked.
"Nothing," she answered, "and I am bored."
"Then jump into your electric and come here to my cousin's, Mrs. Warren
Hampton's, as fast as you can," he said audaciously.
"How do you know she wants me? You are taking a great deal on yourself."
For answer Hayden handed the receiver to Kitty, who had followed him out
and now stood at his shoulder listening breathlessly to every word.
"Mademoiselle is in doubt of your eagerness to see her," he said.
"Oh, please come," urged Kitty through the telephone. "Waste no time."
"I will be with you in twenty minutes," said Ydo sweetly.
Back in the drawing-room, Kitty was too excited to remain quietly in her
chair, but danced about expressing her delight at the prospect of at last
seeing the Mariposa sans mask and mantilla.
"Tell me, Bobby," she insisted, "is she really so eccentric?"
"I fancy she does exactly as she pleases, always," he replied.
"And extravagant? Warren says no one could be more extravagant than I."
"She is a dreamer," he averred, "a dreamer who dreams true. Her ideas are
so vivid that she insists on seeing them in tangible form. I don't
believe she particularly counts the cost or the base material means by
which these things must be accomplished."
"Fancy!" sighed Kitty. "Oh, I do hope she will wear one of her stunning
gowns and some of those marvelous jewels they say she possesses, set in
the most wonderful, quaint ways, Horace Penfield says. But surely she
will."
"I think it likely," agreed Robert amiably.
"And is she very clever and interesting?" continued Kitty.
"She is herself," said Hayden. "I can not describe her any other way. She
may strike you as a bit staccato and stilted sometimes; but it is natural
to her. She is always herself."
There was a faint sound of a curtain before the door being pushed aside,
but this, Kitty and Hayden, absorbed in their conversation, had not
heard, and now, Mrs. Hampton turned with a stifled scream to see a
stranger, a Gipsy, standing almost at her elbow.
"Pretty lady!" The English was more deliciously broken than ever, and so
cajoling was the whisper that it would have coaxed the birds off the
trees and wheedled money from the stingiest pocket. "Pretty lady, let me
tell your fortune. Cross my palm with silver. 'Tis the seventh daughter
of a seventh daughter who asks you."
Kitty looked from the Gipsy to Robert in bewilderment. This was not the
dazzling figure in gauzes and satins and jewels she had expected, a
capricious lady of a foreign and Southern nobility, whose whimsical and
erratic fancy was occasionally amused by a change of role. This was a
daughter of the long, brown path, who afoot and light-hearted took
naturally to the open road, with the tanned cheek, white teeth, and merry
eyes of her kind.
And yet, if not the glittering vision Kitty had anticipated, Ydo was a
sufficiently vivid and picturesque figure. Her short corduroy skirt had
faded with wear and washing to a pale fawn-tint with a velvety bloom upon
it; her brown boots were high and laced, her blue blouse had faded like
her skirt to a soft and lovely hue. A red sash confined her waist, a
handkerchief of the same color was knotted loosely about her throat,
while a yellow scarf was tied about her head and fell in long ends down
her back.
Kitty immediately recovered from the shock she had experienced at the
unheralded advent of the strange visitor and endeavored to make up in
warmth of greeting for the surprise she had shown.
"Forgive me, instead," said Ydo, with charming penitence. "But I was the
Gipsy to-night in heart and feeling. I had to put on these. Oh," throwing
herself into a chair, "I have suffered to-day. It has been coming on for
days. Ennui. Do you know it, pretty lady? And the longing for mine own
people."
"Your people are not in this country, are they?" asked Kitty politely.
The Mariposa drew her brows together in a little puzzled frown. "My
people!" she repeated. "Oh," with dawning comprehension, "you mean
relatives. I," with a short laugh, "I said mine own people. You," turning
to Robert, "you understand. One of the greatest, most searching questions
ever asked, and which must finally be answered by each of us from the
promptings of his own heart, is: 'Who is my brother and my sister?' Ah, I
shall soon take to the road again. If I could only go now!"
"To find your own people," asked Kitty timidly.
"One does not seek one's own," said Ydo disdainfully. "One does not
'scour the seas nor sift mankind a poet or a friend to find.' He comes,
and you know him because he is a poor Greek like yourself. Dear
lady"--she broke into one of her airy rushes of laughter--"in spite of
your smiles and all the self-control of a careful social training, you
are the picture of bewilderment. See, you can keep no secrets from the
fortune-teller. You can not place me. Why do you try? I refused to be
announced and mine was the fate of the listener. Brutus there is an
honorable man who admits that I am extravagant, even if he condones it.
Ah, madame, money is not wealth, it is a base counterfeit, a servant whom
I bid to exchange itself for beauty. These"--she stripped the petals from
a red rose in a vase near her, and tossed them in the air--"these are the
real wealth of the world. And Brutus says I am stilted, exaggerated in my
conversation, given to metaphor and hyperbole. That is because I dare to
express what I feel, and since everywhere I see parables I voice them.
Why not?
"And Brutus says I am eccentric, admitting that I dare to be myself; and
to dare to be one's self, dear lady, is to dare everything. We are afraid
of life, of love, of sorrow and joy, of everything. This fear of life is
universal."
"And you, are you never afraid?" asked Kitty.
"Of what?" laughed the Gipsy. "Let me tell you a secret; and oh, madame,
wear it next your heart, guard it. 'Tis a talisman against fear. The
lions are always chained. Believe me, it is so. But our conversation is
of a seriousness! Mr. Hayden spoke of a dinner."
"Yes, and he's given me permission to do just as I choose," said Kitty.
"So it's got to be a success--"
"And she's trying to say," interrupted Hayden, "that it couldn't possibly
be a success without you."
"Of course I am," agreed Kitty, "only I should have put it less bluntly."
"Wait! I have an inspiration." Ydo thought a moment. "I will not come to
the dinner. We can make it much more effective than that. Ah, listen!"
waving her hands to quell their protests. "Let me appear, later in the
evening, in my professional capacity and tell the past, present and
future of your guests. Yes, I will come in mask and mantilla, The Veiled
Mariposa," with a dramatic gesture, a quick twinkle of the eyes toward
Hayden. "I assure you, it will be far more interesting so."
[Illustration]
"There is really no doubt about that," said Kitty thoughtfully, and
together they silenced Robert's eloquent plea that the dinner would fall
flat unless Ydo was one of the guests.
"It is settled, and I must go." The Mariposa spoke decisively. "I shall
go home and make Eunice play for me, and perhaps I shall dance off some
of my restlessness."
"Oh, dance for us," begged Kitty. "I will play for you, and you see that
the piano is so placed that I can watch you at the same time. What shall
I play? Some Spanish dances?"
Ydo, full of the spirit of the thing, considered. "I think I will show
you a pretty little dance I learned down in South America."
"South America!" Hayden started as if he had received an electric shock.
Perhaps a heightened color glowed on Mademoiselle Mariposa's cheek; but
she gave no further sign of perturbation. "Yes," she answered carelessly,
"I have lived there, in one place or another. Any one of those Spanish
dances will do, Mrs. Hampton. Watch my steps. They are peculiar and very
pretty."
As she stood there swaying like a flower in a breeze, it was, to Hayden's
fancy, as if he had never seen color before. Kitty in her pinks and blues
was a gay little figure; her drawing-room was a rich and sumptuously
decorated apartment, but under the spell of the Mariposa's "woven paces
and weaving hands," Mrs. Hampton appeared a mere Dresden statuette, the
tapestried and frescoed walls became a pale and evanescent background,
and Ydo alone, dancing, focused in herself all light and beauty; nay, she
herself was the pride of life, the rhythm of motion, the glory of color.
On and on she danced and Hayden, watching, dreamed dreams and saw
visions. She was the Mariposa floating over a field of flowers, scarlet
and white poppies, opening and closing its gorgeous wings in the hot
sunshine; she was a snow-flake whirled from the heart of a winter storm;
she was an orchid swaying in the breeze; she was a thistledown drifting
through the grasses.
Then, at the height of her spells she stopped and laughingly cast herself
into a chair.
"Oh!" Kitty was breathless with admiration. "Oh, why, why, when you can
dance like that, do you tell fortunes?"
"There's a reason," Ydo quoted, with a little toss of her head toward
Hayden. "That is exactly the answer I made your cousin once before. And,
oh, senor, apropos of that reason, I have a conference arranged for you
to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock at my apartment. I almost forgot to
tell you. I meant to have telephoned."
Hayden's face flushed with pleasure. "Really?" he cried. "You really have
the people together. Oh," with a long sigh, "it is good news. Suspense
does wear on me, senorita." He spoke half humorously, but with an
underlying seriousness.
"It will soon be over," encouraged Ydo. "Then, until Tuesday night, ten
days hence, _au revoir_, madame; and until to-morrow at four o'clock, _au
revoir_, senor. Good luck for ever be on this house! In it I have
forgotten temporarily my wanderlust. Good-by."